


just the beating of our hearts

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3+1 fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: He leans into it, tilting his body towards her where she still stands between his legs, and they’re so, so close, breathing in each other’s air before his eyes flick up to meet her gaze and then—Abby opens the door and steps out of the supply closet. “Clarke.”-or, 3 times Bellamy gets hurt and one time he isn't.





	just the beating of our hearts

**Author's Note:**

> BFF fill for the prompt: Clarke taking care of Bellamy after he gets hurt and they are being all flirty and Abby is watching trying to figure out what the hell is up.

_i._

“Stop _moving_ , goddammit.”

“That _hurts_.”

“Well then maybe you should have thought of that before you went and did something _stupid_.”

“I wasn’t doing ‘something stupid’—”

“— I don’t know, climbing the Factory wreckage without any kind of harness seems pretty stupid to me.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“Yeah? Lift your right arm for me then, go on.”

It’s not unusual to hear bits and pieces of conversation floating around the medbay— the place is a hotbed for gossip and keeping up to date with all the camp drama— but, for the most part, Abby is able to tune it out.

At least until she hears her daughter who, since they’ve been reunited, has yet to step foot in the med bay or be anywhere near to her for any extended period of time, and _that_ is what finally gets her to look up from the inventory she was taking.

She hits her knee on the edge of the table as she scrambles to stand up and hisses at the shoot of pain that ratchets up her thigh.

The stockroom is separated from the medbay by a door that’s usually kept closed. Now though, it’s open just a crack and it lets her look into the next room without being caught.

The first thing she notices is the broad torso that belongs to Bellamy Blake.

He’s sitting on one of the examination tables, stripped down to a thin undershirt and cradling his right arm close to his chest. His jacket is in a crumpled heap next to him and his fringe flops down into his eyes as he glares presumably at Clarke, who she can’t see at this angle.

She walks back in two seconds later, holding an old piece of fabric and a small metal tin.

“What, you’re not lifting it?” she asks, setting the items down on the table next to him.

Bellamy aims a kick at her shins and she pinches his bicep without missing a beat.

“Fuck you, Clarke,” he grumbles, slouching further and wincing when it pulls at his shoulder.

She bares her teeth at him in a wicked smile. “Nah, you might end up dislocating your hip too, grandpa.”

He kicks her again and she sticks her tongue out at him.

It’s unlike anything she’s ever seen, the way they’re both so comfortable with each other, that Abby can feel the horror dripping over her like a cold bucket of water.

She’s never really given much thought about Bellamy Blake but now, watching as Clarke easily steps into the vee of his legs and he shifts to make room for her, she’s trying to come up with every scrap of knowledge she has on the man.

“ _I'm fine_ ,” Clarke mimics in a poor impression of his voice as she assesses him once again. “If you were fine then you wouldn’t have a dislocated shoulder.”

“Can’t you work your doctor magic on it already?” he huffs, “Slap some bandages on it or something. I have to get back to work.”

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere else besides your bed after I’m done with you.”

“ _Clarke_.”

“ _Bellamy_.”

He glares at her and she glares right back until he caves with a sigh. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Whatever. You like it.”

It gets a smile out of him, a real genuine smile that lights up his entire face for a fleeting moment, and he says, “Yeah, I do.”

It’s those words that has her wondering what exactly she’s looking at.

Friendship definitely. That’s easy to see. Everything from the bickering to their body language confirms it, along with mutual trust and respect, but there’s something else there. Something deeper and, frankly, something that makes her feel more than a little bit jealous.

Clarke is as open as she’s ever seen, laughing and joking alongside him. She lets her guard down completely around him and for that reason alone Abby finds herself hating that he gets to share that part of her that she’s lost. That she’s chosen _Bellamy Blake_ of all people.

He’s dangerous. He might be a few years older than the other children they sent down, but he’s still only a young man with a hot head that gets him into trouble.

They’re dangerous together. And her daughter has had enough danger to last several lifetimes.

She doesn’t know much about him, but she can already see that he’s different here. Softer. Younger. What she thought was a permanent frown on his face is nowhere to be seen and he looks at ease, relaxed, eyes glittering with mirth as he smirks up at her.

At Clarke.

Her _daughter_.

That little green eyed monster inside her is practically foaming at the mouth.

“Gonna pop it back in on the count of three,” she tells him, placing both hands on either side of his shoulder. She can see Bellamy visibly tense. “One… two…”

She moves swiftly, slotting the bone back into the socket with little fanfare and steps back as he yelps.

“Three,” she finishes, voice smug.

Bellamy glares balefully at her, clutching his sore shoulder. “You cheated.”

“Because you’re a big baby,” she says sweetly, scratching her nails at the base of his scalp.

He leans into it, tilting his body towards her where she still stands between his legs, and they’re so, so close, breathing in each other’s air before his eyes flick up to meet her gaze and then—

Abby opens the door and steps out of the supply closet. “Clarke.”

The two of them jump apart as though they’ve been caught doing something wrong and she can see the shutters fall shut, hiding that softness from before.

Clarke recovers first, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to look nonplussed despite the pink dashed across her cheek. “Mom,” she says evenly.

Bellamy just nods, a tic in his jaw making itself known. “Chancellor,” he says, voice gruff.

She remains unimpressed, folding her own arms and surveying the room.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” the two of them share a look, “Bellamy injured his arm.”

Abby presses her lips together. “I see.”

She suddenly wants them gone, separated, left on opposite sides of the camp, just-- away from each other. She knows she doesn’t have a good, solid reason for this, that it’s mostly out of pettiness and the jealousy bubbling in her gut, but still.

There was something in the way Clarke looked at him— warm and open in a way she hasn’t seen since before everything happened— that makes her purse her lips and say, “Don’t you have a meeting with engineering? I can finish up here for you.”

Bellamy and Clarke share another wordless glance and oh how she _hates_ them.

“The meeting isn’t for another half hour,” she says slowly, “And Bellamy is going to it too.”

Of course he is.

“Well don’t you need to prepare?” she asks, trying to prod her into leaving. “Besides, you’re not assigned to the medbay. You shouldn’t be treating patients.”

“ _Seriously ?_ ” she splutters. “It’s just a dislocated shoulder, I could do that in my sleep.”

“You don’t have any proper training and I’m not going to bend the rules for you,” she says succinctly before turning her attention to Bellamy.

He’s been quiet this entire time glancing back and forth between the two of them from his spot on the table. He’s no longer slouching, instead sitting up straight with obvious tension ratcheting up his spine and trying not to make eye contact with her.

Clarke on the other hand throws a disbelieving look his way, and Abby catches the barest twitch of his lips as he tries to keep from reacting.

“You know what, fine,” she says and throws her hands up with a roll of her eyes. “You take over then. I’ve already set it back in place but since you don’t trust me you can look it over.” She wipes her hands on her jeans before throwing one last look at Bellamy. “I’ll see you later,” she says to him, before turning on her heel and walking out.

Bellamy still doesn’t say anything when she starts prodding and poking at his arm, and just gives simple yes or no answers in response to her questions. Clarke _did_ set it back properly and all that’s left for her to do is tie off the sling and instruct him how to use the muscle balm.

It’s all very civil considering mere minutes before she stewing in the corner.

“Come back in a few days for me to take a look at it again,” she tells him, watching as he clumsily shrugs on his jacket.

He nods once. “Thanks Doctor Griffin,” he says, voice gruff, and then walks out of medbay, most likely to go find Clarke again.

Abby sighs, watching as he disappears in the distance. She’ll have to find a better way to keep them apart from each other if they knew what was good.

(Later she would walk past Bellamy’s tent at just the right moment and hear him say, “I don’t think your mom likes me much,” sounding absolutely _delighted_ by the fact.)

* * *

 

_ii._

It’s staggering to think about the change that has happened over the past six months.

She’s lost people and found them, been stabbed in the back and betrayed and had to make some near impossible choices. She’s lost Clarke and found her only to lose her once more, this time of her own volition. She’s strengthened old bonds, broke some, and forged new, albeit strange, ones.

Most notably that with Bellamy Blake.

Her lips tip up in a wry smile.

The Abby of four months ago would have deemed it ridiculous but yet here she is, somehow trusting this man.

It all has to do with Clarke of course, and it’s just so funny that his relationship with her daughter was the exact same thing she’d resented him for in the beginning.

She’s learnt better by now.

There’s still that friendship between them, burning brighter and deeper than ever, but she’s seen it— through her eyes and thousands of unknown more— that they’re lingering on that precipice, just waiting for that right push.

She honestly shouldn’t be surprised about this anymore, and yet--

“That’s going to bruise,” Clarke murmurs, brushing her fingers across his throat. They trail up his neck, chin, jaw before finally settling on his cheek, thumbing the wound still sluggishly oozing blood. “And this is going to scar.”

Bellamy for his part keeps his eyes closed, slumped against the wall. “What’s one more to add to the collection,” he mumbles, lips barely moving.

They’re still in the throne room, battle weary and exhausted in all forms of the word, leaning against a pillar to the extreme right, next to an open balcony.

Moonlight streams through it, dripping onto their skin and hair and making them look otherworldly.

Clarke’s hands continue to trace over Bellamy’s face, cataloguing every hiss and flinch and groan he makes.

“I don’t think anything is broken or fractured,” she says, leaving her palm on his cheek, “So you don’t have to worry too much about losing your pretty boy membership card.”

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he says dryly, “You always have my best interests at heart.”

“Well, your face is the only thing that makes you seem bearable,” she teases and he huffs out a breath.

“You’re such a little brat,” he tells her, and now it’s Clarke’s turn to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Soon you’ll be yelling at me to get off your lawn too,” she sniggers, easily dodging the blind fist he swings her way.

“Rude,” he says, and Clarke’s smile is almost painfully wide.

She hasn’t seen her smile like that since, well, ever.

“Come on,” she says softly, shifting closer to him, “You might not have any fractures but you do have way too much blood and dirt on your face right now.”

And with that Abby watches as Clarke all but climbs into Bellamy’s lap and starts to wipe away the mess bit by bit.

The fabric is rough, but even from here she could see the delicateness she wields it with, cleaning the grit from the corner of his eyes, thumbing gently at the cut across his cheek, wiping the sharp angles of his jaw. She would think that it would have lulled him to sleep had it not been for the hand he has splayed out on the small of her back, holding Clarke steady as she works.

Her strokes slow as she nears the end, and when she stops all together, Bellamy’s eyes flutter open and he looks up at her from beneath his lashes, hot and wanting.

She’s taken back to the first time she saw them like this, trapped in their own little world. That time was different though. It was like the nip of the wind before the first snowfall of the year, a promise of something more to come.

This was the something more.

The two of them alone in all their hazy, softened glory.

It seems so intimate, the way they look at each other as he lets his fingers trace the mark left by the AI in her neck, the spot still tender but Clarke shivers when he touches it.

It’s almost enough to make her want to avert her eyes and give them some semblance of privacy.

“You okay?” he asks when she’s finished, leaving a hand cupping the back of her neck. He takes the rag from her and uses it to wipe the black blood that leaked out of her nose, just as gentle as Clarke was.

“Yeah,” she says, putting her hand over his wrist and leaning into it.

It’s always struck her just how comfortable the two of them are with each other but this, sitting tangle up in each other seemingly unaware of the rest of the world around them, is something else.

Clarke leans her head against Bellamy’s bicep and lets out a sigh that seems too big for her body.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Abby watches them as they fall asleep, half slumped against the pillar and half against each other. Their hands are loosely linked together on his thigh and it stays there, until they wake up the next morning, ready to take on the world side by side once more.

* * *

 

_iii._

In the almost seven years that Abby’s known Bellamy Blake he could have lost his life about twenty different times, and that’s being optimistic.

His hothead gets him into all kinds of trouble, as does his inability to stay still. It’s a valuable asset most of the time, though sometimes things can go a bit too far.

But, all past near death experiences aside, this one is surely the closest he’s come to actually dying, and it leaves Clarke clinging to her arm like a scared little girl once more as she watches his pale body barely even breathe on the table in front of them.

It is not war that left him in this position. It’s not yet another battle to add to the thousands under his belt, it’s not another ambush, or a trap or even a trade meeting gone wrong.

It’s a panther, one with no tail and twice as many claws, that attacked him during a routine hunting expedition. A reminder that even when they are at peace, they’re never really going to be able to let their guard down fully.

Jackson has finished prepping the vial of anaesthetic and as she takes a step towards the table, Clarke’s grip somehow grows stronger.

“Mom, please,” she whispers, bottom lip quivering and eyes trained on his still form lying just in front them. “I just got him back. _I can’t lose him again_. Not for good.”

If she had any doubt about their feelings for each other; or rather Clarke’s feelings for that boy- man- as he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, then those few words would have cleared it right up.

She spares a moment to give her hand a brief squeeze. “I know,” she murmurs, and catches her eyes for second before pulling on her gloves.

The next few hours are gruelling.

A rough preliminary examination of his body shows that only one of the gashes is life threatening, and she and Jackson immediately get to work on that, cleaning and closing and stitching. None of his organs are damaged, thank god, but it’s a sizeable injury that caused him to lose a lot of blood.

Clarke doesn’t leave the medbay.

She can hear Octavia pacing outside, growling at everyone who tries to speak to her, but Clarke is curled up on the floor in the corner, knees pulled up to her chin and unmoving. She doesn’t seem to breathe until she sees him breathe, eyes trained so hard on his chest that if Abby didn’t know better she would think it’s the force of that alone that keeps him going, hanging on to this side by his fingernails.

Two bags of blood and another sedative later, they’re able to slow their frantic pace and stitch him up, slow and methodical.

She loses count of how many stitches she’s put to hold his torso together, but she can see Clarke’s lips move soundlessly, keeping track of it all.

As Jackson finishes tending to the other superficial wounds on his body and she ties off the last stitch, Clarke stands, all creaking bones and heartbreak, and crosses the room to take a seat next to Bellamy’s figure.

She looks worse for wear, purple bruises under her eyes and dried blood staining her shirt and hands.

If this was six years ago she would have ordered her to go home, tell her that there was nothing for her to do here.

Now though, she just squeezes her shoulder and says, “At least wash off the blood,” she trudging off to the makeshift doctors’ quarters on the other end of the room.

She’s done all she could, now it’s for him to pull through the night.

From her spot in the hammock she can only see a bit of their figures, but it looks likes Clarke has her head bowed in prayer, hands clasped and forehead on the tabletop.

She doesn’t say anything when she finally straightens and takes his hand instead, and doesn’t say anything again when she starts humming to him the old song _she_ used to sing for her at night on the ark.

Bellamy makes it through the night with minimal fuss and the whole world seems to breathe easier.

They move him from the exam room to what used to be a closet, now outfitted with a cot and a chair for Clarke, and now it’s just a waiting game.

Clarke doesn’t leave his side for more than five minutes at a time, which is to be expected. She talks to him and tells him mythology stories from an old book they found on the Ark, and Abby even finds her changing his bandages on the morning of the second day and wiping him down with an old wet rag.

She does it so carefully, so _lovingly_ , that she can’t help but wonder if they actually are together at last.

She supposes that that’s a question for another day.

On the third day, Bellamy wakes up and Abby is lucky enough to be in the room at the same time he starts to twist and turn, muttering unintelligently before—

“ _Clarke_ ,” he murmurs, because of course that’s going to be the first word out of his mouth. Abby tries not to roll her eyes at how transparent they are.

“Hey,” she says, flashing him a small but no less stunning smile when he finally blinks his eyes open. “Hey Bellamy.”

His responding smile is more of a lazy tilt of the lips but neither of them care.

And then it turns into a wince when he tries to move and her hands automatically start fluttering all over him to check for damages.

“That hurts,” he says, making a face.

Clarke laughs low as she cards her fingers through his hair. “Well then maybe you should have thought of that before you went and did something _stupid_.”

“S’not my fault the panther came out of nowhere,” he says before trying to smirk at her. “Can’t blame it for wanting to take a bite out of me; I’m delectable.”

Clarke’s laughter is surprised, and even Abby feels her lips twitch in response.

“You _ass_ ,” she says fondly, “You think you’ve got jokes, huh.”

“Well they do say that laughter is the best medicine.”

She giggles. “Yeah, they do.” She takes a minute, the laughter and jokes disappearing from her face before she nudges him. “Hey.”

“Hmm?” He looks up at her.

“You mean a lot to me, okay?” she says, soft, and Bellamy’s face turns sombre. “I don’t— you’re my best friend, Bellamy. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You just can’t _leave_ me. I can’t- I can’t lose you too.”

Her eyes are blazing as she stares down at him, and she looks like she’s steeling herself to actually say it, and Abby finds herself waiting with bated breath to see if she’s right about this whole thing.

“I know, Clarke,” he murmurs, tracing the delicate bones of her hand.

“No, you really don’t,” she says, a little helpless smile blooming across her face as she looks at him, eyes glistening. “The reason why I can’t lose you. It’s because I… I-”

“I know,” he says quick, smoothly filling in her pause, and she huffs, swiping at her eyes. “I _know,_ Clarke. You don’t have to say it.”

“But I want to.”

“You don’t have to say it now, then,” he corrects himself, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

She laughs again and a few tears slip down her cheeks. Even Abby can feel a bit of a sting in her own eyes as she watches them, watches just how happy they are, how happy they make each other.

“Good,” says Clarke fiercely, twisting their hands so that their fingers are linked. She drops her head to rest on his shoulder, nose skimming the line of his jaw. “I’m not letting you go anywhere, Bellamy Blake.”

* * *

_+i._

She blinks in surprise when she steps into the first examination room and comes face to face with Bellamy and Clarke.

The former is leaning against the wall, looking completely at ease, while the latter grumpily sits in the chair, face clouded over.

It’s not particularly unusual to see them both around the medbay; Clarke usually covers the easy shifts of treating colds and tending to minor wounds, and more often than not Bellamy would wander in at all times of the day just to say hi or drop off an apple because he frets more about her eating habits than she does.

It’s nothing short of amusing at times.

That being said, she usually sees them working in the clinic. Not as her patients.

“Clarke?” she asks, coming up short.

She sighs, leaning back, and Bellamy puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hi mom.”

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No,” she growls the exact same time Bellamy nods and says, “Yes.”

She glares at him and he only just lifts an eyebrow in response. She ends up sticking her tongue out him after the glare falls through.

Abby hides her smile. They’re both adults now, and have been married for almost a year, and yet they still manage to act like a pair of preschoolers with a crush on each other when the other is near. It’s a bit exasperating sometimes but cute nonetheless.

Still, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Yes or no?” she asks, looking between the two of them. Clarke grows increasingly more sullen as time ticks by.

“I’m fine,” she grits out, “Bellamy is just being a drama queen like always.”

“You threw up this morning,” he shoots back, crossing his arms. “You’ve thrown up almost every morning for the past two weeks, you’ve been so tired and achy all the time but you haven’t actually been sleeping, and you’re not eating properly.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she says again, this time trying to keep her tone even. She glances up at Bellamy and  softens even more. “I’m not sick, okay.”

And then all of a sudden, it hits her.

Oh.

Abby’s eyes dart down to her stomach for a split second before flicking back up to her daughter’s face. Clarke has noticed of course, and is biting down on her bottom lip when she gives just the tiniest of nods.

 _Oh_.

All of a sudden the world goes blurry and she finds herself blinking back tears while Bellamy just looks back and forth between them, desperation evident.

“What?” he asks, squeezing Clarke’s hand tight. “ _What?_ ”

She lets out a soft laugh, more of a huff really, and stands up, linking both of their hands together.

Abby turns away under the pretense of giving them some privacy, but really it’s because her eyes are still wet and she needs to find something to pat it dry.

“I’m not sick,” she tells him again, rolling up on the balls of her feet. “Or rather, not the kind of sick you’re thinking about. This is normal. I’m fine.”

“Clarke,” he whines, voice shot, “Could you please stop talking in circles and just tell me what’s going on?”

She ducks her head, laughing again. “You better hope our kid isn’t as impatient as you.”

“Oh please, our kid would be lucky to have my—” He jerks like he’s been shot, gaze snapping over to her and Clarke grins back, a bit tentatively.

The whole thing has Abby crying even more and while she tries to covertly wipe away the tears lest she breaks the moment, she doubts that even a hurricane could rock them, the intensity of their gaze damn near overwhelming.

“Our kid?” he repeats hoarsely, once he’s found his voice again.

Clarke nods. “I told you,” she says pulling him close, “I’m not actually sick. It’s just a bout of morning sickness and— yeah. I’m pregnant.”

“Jesus fucking Christ you’re _pregnant_ ,” he says, before collapsing into her recently vacated chair.

She lets out a bright laugh. “Yeah, Bell. I’m pregnant.”

“ _Holy shit_.”

She giggles again and Abby can’t help but smile fondly at the two.

“Did you know?” he asks, eyes snapping to hers, and Abby shakes her head.

“Only two seconds before you did.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she grumbles, even as a truly ridiculous smile tugs at her lips. “I was planning a _thing_. It was gonna be fancy. Congrats on ruining it.”

“I really don’t care,” he says before dropping her hands in favour of lightly caressing her stomach.

There’s not much to see, not yet, but even Abby’s heart squeezes at the pure love and joy reflected in their eyes, especially when Bellamy places a chaste kiss on her stomach and then steals a lingering one from her lips.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” he whispers, grinning from ear to ear.

Abby already knows that she was wrong with her first judgment of him, but it’s times like these that she’s especially glad she was wrong. That this is the man who loves Clarke wholeheartedly and unconditionally. That she feels the same way about him too, that they both make each other _happy_.

They’re so wrapped up in each other, murmuring all sorts of sweet nothings while his hands continue to trace circles into the skin of her tummy, that they don’t notice when she sneaks out.

There’ll be plenty of time for her to talk and give advice, both medical and maternal, to Clarke later, but now, now she lets them have this special moment on their own and she’s positive that nothing could wipe the smile off her face for the next nine months.

 


End file.
